Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf) (33 page)

Zivën was so mad that the veins were popping out on his forehead. It seemed to take every ounce of his control not to attack. Instead, he did something unexpected. “Isengrim, you have tarnished my reputation and insulted my honor.” Pulling off his glove, Zivën spit on it and threw it at Gray’s feet.

Slack jawed, Gray looked down at the glove and back at the dark elf. He had just been challenged to a duel by the Blademaster of Timgâd. Even as he contemplated the implications, Gray noticed that Zivën’s eyes kept flicking over to his half-brother and he realized what was really going on. By challenging him and not Galvorn, Zivën was planning on punishing Darnac without danger of angering Lalith. Gray grinned and bent down to pick up the glove. He was more than willing to face the dark elf in battle, wound or no wound.

Galvorn snatched the glove out of Gray’s hand and smacked Zivën across the jaw with it. “I accept!”

At that moment, Gray knew exactly what his half-brother had meant by Zivën’s look of surprise. The dark elf’s eyes seemed to glaze over even as they widened and his face elongated as his jaw dropped. Galvorn was right, it was priceless.

Zivën stammered. “But…but I didn’t challenge you.”

Galvorn nodded. “Aye, but my sword-brother is injured and the code allows for a proxy. I will be that replacement.”

“But...but…”

Galvorn continued speaking as if the Blademaster of Timgâd had not said anything. “Since you are the challenger, I get to choose what weapons and place.” Galvorn paused as if he was contemplating all possible scenarios but only for a few seconds. “Your tulwars against my falinnsverõ and the duel shall take place in the Lüdüs Lupus, the training arena of the wolf.”

Zivën drew his shoulders back. It seems that he had regained his cockiness. “Let’s go you damn mongrel. Time to see what your precious Kënnári has taught you.”

Galvorn raised one eyebrow. “Now? And ignore the traditions of the Svartálfar? You and I both know that we have to wait until an hour before dawn.”

Zivën sneered. “Indeed. Can I assume that Isengrim will be your Second?”

“Of course. And yours?”

Zivën nodded at the Headmaster. “Aaron Kingslayer will fill that role.”

“I, Kieran the Sultan of Otrar, will act as mediator and,” he gestured to the students, “we will all bear witness to the duel. You will have three hours to prepare yourself.”

Without another word, Zivën and Aaron Kingslayer stormed off.

Kieran turned back to face the two Sicárii. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Galvorn grinned. “Thank you Sultan.”

Kieran smiled. “If you really want to thank me, kill the son-of-a-bitch.”

“Don’t worry. That’s the plan.”

Gray cast his half-brother a sideways glance. “Come on. I need to get this bandaged properly before the duel.”

Kieran nodded. “Go. I need to revive the students and get them to the arena. I’ll see you two soon and good luck.”

Chapter 35

Amani felt guilty. There was no way around it. Her adopted father had forbidden her to pursue this matter any further but she knew she had to. It just felt right. Even so, she still felt guilty about lying to Nilrem. According to the note she had left him, she and Dancer were heading to Crannog’s northern pass to hunt. It was not a complete lie. They were planning on using that pass to enter the Highlands and they were hunting, just not for elk.

They had been traveling since moonrise and finally Dancer paused. Turning to face her, his handsome face was illuminated by the pale light of the nearly full moon. “Are you certain about this?” Dancer gestured at an odd formation of rocks just ahead. “Once we pass that tôrr, we are in the Highlands and officially disobeying the Chieftain.”

“I’m certain. I can’t explain it but it is something I must do.” Amani gently placed one hand on his chest. “But you should turn back. There’s no reason for you to risk yourself on this venture.”

Dancer felt his heart flutter at her touch but he forced himself to remain calm and placed one hand over hers with a grin. “Where ever you walk, I will be beside you.”

Amani flashed him a brief smile and the two Highlanders turned east and entered their ancient homeland.

*    *    *   *    *

Darnac moved cautiously across the broken ground. Grunk had been right. The valley was hidden off a side passage and covered in a heavy mist. Even though he couldn’t see it, Darnac could hear the roar of a fast moving river somewhere nearby. The rocky ground was littered with bones and he’d seen evidence of many feet passing through the area but no definitive sign of Blackfang.

The first vale he’d reached was small, not any wider than the length of a large ship and ended into another winding passageway. Coming around a corner, the corridor opened up into a second valley that was huge, wide enough that the sides were lost to darkness and the mist was heavier than earlier.

Even in the dim light, Darnac discovered why it was called the Dragon’s Graveyard. Mixed in with the ruins of a stone temple of sorts was the skeleton of the largest dragon he’d ever seen and it seemed to be completely intact. The sun-bleached bones gleamed in the pale light of the nearly full moon.

As Darnac took in the enormity of the skeleton, he felt a slight pricking in his thumbs and knew he wasn’t alone. Seconds later, he spied shadowy figures moving in the mist as they surrounded him. Reaching back, Darnac freed his swords and they sprang to life.

Iran
et dolorem
were known as the Swords of Destiny. Darnac had found these blades nearly one hundred years ago. Actually that wasn’t completely correct, he had been chosen to wield these swords when they had betrayed the Butcher of Kantia, their previous wielder. It had been a glorious battle and that one moment which came to define the rest of his life since it was during that same battle when he’d became indebted to Lalith.

When Darnac had looted the blades, he immediately discovered that Furor and Miseria were actually sentient blades. Not completely intelligent, the blades worked to influence their wielder’s personality. Typically speaking they didn’t agree with each other except when it came to combat since both blades constantly thirsted for blood. Even after nearly a century of wielding the blades, Darnac could feel their urging as combat loomed closer.

Guttural laughter echoed through the valley. “The Blademaster of Avaris, how nice of you to join us.”

Darnac didn’t need to see his opponent to recognize the voice. “So, Grunk was right.”

Blackfang stepped out from underneath the gargantuan dragon skull. “I knew if I let that one-eyed lummox live you would eventually find me.”

Darnac stepped forward. “If I knew you wanted to meet me, I would’ve come earlier.”

Blackfang laughed and gestured to his right and left. Two more lycanthropes stepped out from under the shadow of the dragon skull, a wereboar and a werebear. 

The werebear was massive. That was the first word that came to mind as Darnac gazed on him. He wasn’t as tall as his friend Grunk but he was close. He had the
unmistakable look of a warrior but instead of carrying a highlander weapon, he bore a staff that marked his as a tribal shaman.

Two things made the wereboar stand out from the rest of the lycanthropes, overall cleanliness and lack of scars. The wereboar wore a simple loincloth to cover his manhood and a wide girdle of leather with a faded bronze buckle. Both had seen plenty of wear and abuse but it was obvious that he also cleaned them
regularly. As to the scars, it quickly became obvious that it wasn’t that he didn’t have scars, he had plenty, but they seemed fainter than any of the others around him. It was as if this lycanthrope took the time to clean and bind any wounds, not like the rest. They would just let a wound bleed until it finally scabbed over. Occasionally, one would rub some mud on the wound. As Darnac studied him, the wereboar nodded his snout in silent greeting. 

“If you just leave Rage and Sorrow in my care, I’ll let you live,” said Blackfang as he gestured to the dark elf’s blades. “You know you can’t win this one.”

Darnac felt his pulse quicken and
Furor
quivered in his hand. He could feel Rage’s influence as it urged him to attack but he held it in check with his own iron will. “I told you once before, there is only one condition on how you will get these blades.”

Blackfang grinned. “I was hoping you would say that. Get him!”

Out of the mists came Blackfang’s soldiers. Darnac quickly found himself on the defensive as he dodged and parried attacks from numerous were-creatures and at least a dozen orcs.

*    *    *   *    *

Odovacar took several steps backwards instead of forward. He had no urge to attack the Blademaster. Hawkeye had always spoken highly of the dark elf. Although now that he had a chance to see the warrior in action, he knew that the stories he’d heard of his prowess with the blades had been vastly understated. The dark elf moved with the grace of a puma and the ferocity of a wolverine. Even as he struck down the unfortunate Hok’ee who came within his deadly reach, Odovacar knew it was futile. The dark elf was surrounded and outnumbered. It was only a matter of time.

As Blackfang moved closer to Darnac and further away from him, Odovacar felt the madness close back in on him. Even though he didn’t want to engage the dark elf in battle, the wereboar took a few steps forward and the madness began to recede.

Odovacar loathed the simple fact that his life was now tied to Blackfang, a man he hated and despised, that was if he wanted to keep his sanity. Somehow the scarred werewolf radiated a calming influence that drove away the feral animal mind and allowed those within its influence to regain their senses. Odovacar had tried to walk away once but that didn’t last long and he wouldn’t voluntarily do it again. He had too much to lose.

*    *    *   *    *

Kieran nearly fell out of his chair when his visitor walked in unannounced.

Everyone in his line of work had heard of Kâlikâ the blind witch of Avaris but few had ever seen her or if they had, rarely talked about it. The only exception seemed to be when she arrives in the Lüdüs to help process the students into coteries. Of course, there had been plenty of rumors over the last couple of decades that she had been seen out and about more often. There were even some rumors that she even worked for the Dôminus but Kieran doubted that one. From the stories he had heard about her, the Dôminus might think she was working for him but in reality, he was furthering some unfathomable agenda of hers.

Kieran hopped up and bowed low. “Kâlikâ, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Ah Kieran, always the silver-tongued devil. I just felt that it was time we met....” She paused before adding, “…in person.”

The retired thief was confused. He was certain that he’d never met the witch. It would be hard to forget meeting someone as hideously ugly as her but he didn’t get the feeling that she was lying. Maybe she was just being polite. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to seem rude but I have pressing business I must attend to.”

The old hag ignored him, moved straight over to an empty chair and sat down. “Yes I know…the duel between Galvorn and Zivën. Why else would I be here?”

Kieran cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand.”

“Simple. When
was the last time a Blademaster was challenged by an outsider, much less a half-breed? Now consider the ramifications since we both know that Zivën sits on the Council of Shadows. How will his defeat affect them?”

“If Zivën falls? I would guess that the implications that the Council of Shadows are not as untouchable or as
infallible as they would have us think.”

“I agree. This could be like the one small stone that starts an avalanche. You shall bear witness and after today, you shall carry that knowledge to Timgâd and to the Council of Shadows.”

“You talk as if you know that Zivën will lose.”

“His fall was foretold long ago.”

Kieran shook his head slowly. “How is it you know all this?”

Kâlikâ smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “When you gaze on me, all you can see is a wrinkled old hag with black eyes which makes you think I am limited by this deformity.” She shrugged. “In
some ways maybe I am but my limitations allow me to see more than what this mortal shell would ever permit. I have seen wonders beyond your imagination. I have seen the birth and death of myriad stars, I have walked the paths of time, visited the ancient past and the distant future, I have seen the rise of empires and the fall of dynasties.”

Kâlikâ looked down and began to fumble inside her belt pouches as if she was looking for something that had been misplaced. “But alas, even with all my powers I find myself in need of someone like you. Interested?”

“Nay witch. I am but a simple thief trying to make my way in this world.”

Kâlikâ chuckled. “You are neither simple nor a thief. You are a shiftless rogue. Once you were the Sultan of Otrar, the Kingpin of the outer reaches of the Subterreth, the one who controlled all criminal
activities outside the ancient cities and you were happy. But two decades ago, it all came to a crashing end. You blame Lalith for you downfall but it was not her doing, nor was it Darnac’s. Shall I tell you who is to blame for the demise of your criminal empire?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, nor did he offer one since they both knew her question was rhetorical.

“It was the Council of Shadows. They were intimidated by your success and decided to destroy your empire lest you threaten them in the future.”

“How do I know you speak the truth?”

The blind witch paused in her rummaging and turned her sightless gaze back on the thief. “I could tell you the details of any day in your past or describe the manner of your death with such clarity that you would be filled with dread. Is this what you want?”

Kieran took an involuntarily step backwards. “Nay. I have found solitude in the role of Döcent and I just want to be left alone.”

“I can understand that but that path is no longer possible; your future and that of Terreth’s balances on the edge of a knife. You can choose to be a part of the future or a victim of it. Choose now and choose wisely.”

Kieran had no idea what the old hag was talking about. She might be totally delusional but she was probably right about the Council of Shadows. He’d long suspected them and had even befriended Zivën to see if he could glean any information from the Blademaster but he hadn’t. If there was one thing he had learned in the last two decades, when confronted with change, embrace it or be prepared to be run over by it. He suspected that Kâlikâ’s arrival represented that moment in time where everything beyond this point would be different. She was the catalyst, not the cause.

Kieran had to make a decision but honestly, it was not very difficult.

“How can I aid you?”

Kâlikâ grinned and pulled out a ring carved of solid black onyx from her pouch and handed it to the thief. “When Zivën falls and the defeated lies in a pool of his own blood, place this on his left hand.”

Kieran looked down at the ebony ring. “What does it do?”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to know,” she said as she placed one hand on his arm.

Kieran only dimly heard her reply. His mind was otherwise occupied. When she had touched him, he immediately noticed two things. Her skin was dry and cold, not soft and warm like a typical touch but more like that of a corpse. Nonetheless, it was the smell of death that invaded his nostrils and threatened to overwhelm his self-control.

Swallowing hard, Kieran nodded. “It shall be done.”